


if I go I'm going on fire

by Suchsmallhands



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Christmas, Ghosts, Light Angst, M/M, New Year's Eve, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Post-First War with Voldemort, well...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchsmallhands/pseuds/Suchsmallhands
Summary: Sirius and Regulus decide that the best way to handle the pesky haunting of Grimmauld Place is give it a thorough renovation.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 92





	if I go I'm going on fire

“Mr. Black?” A woman stood in the doorway to her home, one of a complex in this town of tight packed houses as if there was no more room in the countryside, peering at him with wide eyes that wavered between _everything is fine and normal_ and her next daily breakdown. Peaky. That would be a good term for her and her red flushed, soft pale cheeks.

“Mrs. Wordrof!” Sirius smiled in his most professional manner. It still had the unintended effect of causing Mrs. Wordrof to blink in a flurry and titter a welcome as she stepped back to allow him inside. He stepped in with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He was tall and dark and somewhat imposing in the home. But he’d always liked places like this. It was a cozy sitting room, slightly cramped, but warm. There was a recliner and a television in front of a couch, all centered on a time pressed light purple rug. On the couch sat a woman, looking barely out of Hogwarts, with a half shaved head. Her arms were crossed, and she tipped her chin up to Sirius which he returned briefly.

“Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Black. Should I pour a cuppa for you?” She wrapped her cardigan more snugly around herself and smoothed back the side of her hair, brown and grey but still shining healthy.

“That would be lovely,” He beamed, “And Sirius is fine.”

It remained to be seen if she would call him Sirius or Mr. Black. He followed her into the kitchen and passed the woman on the couch with a sliding gaze, offering her a polite smile which she didn’t return. She stood and followed the two of them into the kitchen. Equally too small, Sirius felt like the same precarious sensation Moony must feel when he had to hole up in the Shrieking Shack alone. The same way Padfoot felt in the shack just before they used to break out into the Forbidden But Not For Them Forest.

Sirius sat down, though he didn’t quite feel like it, and sat while she made the tea. The young woman stood behind him, leaning against the wall.

“Lovely home you have, Mrs. Wordrof.” A compliment always went far, especially with mums. He may as well let her take her time getting to the point, as it was a touchy one.

“Oh, thank you dear, I try to keep it tidy. You know, with my son and my grandchild around it’s a busy, busy house.” She said all this, setting the kettle on and taking a tray of cauldron cakes out of the oven to set on the table before going back to the kettle and pouring the tea. “Of course I prefer it this way, I’m sure. I couldn’t bare a quiet house you know!” She laughed thinly. “Idle hands and all that.”

She brought the tea to the table and he thanked her quietly as she continued, taking a seat across from him. “I suppose it doesn’t look it today, Mr. Wordrof is working, at the ministry. And my son and daughter in law and the baby are at theirs, for today. If they were around you’d see what I mean, a little storm the lot of them! But maybe later today…”

Sirius was quite good with children, they fed off his high energy and didn’t suffer from the arrogant dismissal or casual cruelty he could turn on at times. They responded well when he turned into a dog. This aside, he was really only interested in Harry and not much in just any kid. Still, he nodded politely and sipped the tea he was offered while she talked about the grandson.

“Oh, d’you want a cake dear?” She put a soft hand on the dish between them.

“I’m just fine for now, thank you, though they smell wonderful. I’ll have to take some home with me for my boyfriend if you don’t mind. He’s got a sweet tooth to match any other.” He watched with mild entertainment while she fluttered her eyes and laughed nervously under her breath at the mention of his being with a man.

“Oh, well that’s sweet of you, of course you have to. I know what it’s like, my own husband, he eats just about anything I bake!”

Sirius hummed with a smile and took another sip. He thought she’d had enough time to prepare and he was impatient.

“So, you wanted to speak about your daughter?” He asked, watching the peaky cheer seep out of her.

“Geneva.” The woman behind him said over his shoulder.

“Geneva.” Sirius echoed.

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Wordrof swallowed, nodding. Sirius felt for her and the fragile way she seemed to be holding herself together. “Everyone said it was a waste of time to call you here, foolish they said. But I’ve heard about the work you do and, well, I just think you could help us.”

“I’m sure I can.” Sirius said with a patient nod. “What were you hoping I could do for you?”

He had gotten much more professional over the years. In the beginning, he’d been like a bull in a china shop, impatient to cut to every chase, and insensitive with talking to the air, and lacking in any censorship. Of course, he was not much better at censoring himself, but he was better at being sensitive. He’d learned over time to mind the feelings of others when it came to their loss.

“Well…” She seemed to blank for a moment before she soldiered on. “I lost my daughter a few years ago, during the war… and I… well, I suppose it sounds crazy doesn’t it.” She shook her head and put a hand to her mouth.

“It’s not.” He prompted to help her along.

“I just feel like she’s _here_.” She said simply. “I wanted to be sure.”

“Yes, she is.” Sirius nodded.

This seemed to short circuit her for a moment while she processed. Fingers absent on her cup of tea, eyes wide with shock and muddied with emotions.

“She is here?” She asked.

“Yes, Geneva you mean?” Sirius tilted his head back toward her. “Just over my shoulder. Was there anything you wanted to ask her about?”

Mrs. Wordrof’s eyes teared up at that and she put a closed fist to her mouth, pressed her fingers to her lips.

“What does she look like?”

“Mm,” He shrugged, “I’d say five five, same hair as you except half chopped off, outdated fashion sense.”

“Fuck off.” Geneva said lightly and he smirked.

“That’s her.” Mrs. Wordrof did cry now, and Sirius gave her some time for it. He looked over his shoulder at Geneva who shrugged at him.

“She cries a lot now.” She explained.

“Yes, I’m sure she does.” He said, “Nice hair you’ve got there.”

“Thanks.” She muttered, looking world weary.

“Could you- could you tell her I said I miss her very much.” Mrs. Wordrof managed. Sirius didn’t bother.

“I miss you too, Mum.” Geneva said. “I love you.”

“She misses you and loves you, too.” Sirius passed along, which seemed to ring some relief out of her tight drawn shoulders.

“Could you ask her, please, where she went? What- what happened?” She sniffled. Right. She’d told him in her letter that Geneva was a missing person’s case. Missing people aren’t all that common, the ministry is usually fairly good about finding people. But the war had thrown out a lot of things that typically worked, for a while. The ministry would have had far bigger things to focus their resources on at the time.

Sirius looked at Geneva for the answer. Geneva stood off the wall and came to sit at the table, between the two of them, her eyes gentle but concerned. She cared for her mother. It was clear she’d been waiting for Sirius to arrive so she could speak to her.

“Could you just tell her I got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time when I left the house that night, and I couldn’t get back. I ran into death eaters. And started some trouble… but it was quick, really quick. And it’s alright. And I’ll give you the location of my body.”

“She says that she was caught by death eaters that night and she got into a fight with them. She says it was quick, but it’s alright. She wants to tell us where her body is.”

Mrs. Wordrof spent some time crying at this point and Geneva sat miserably by, it was clear she was used to this. Sirius for his part was used to clients crying but he still struggled to think of what to do while he waited for them to finish. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with it, but it just took so much time. He’d seen so many people cry for their loved ones, it was just a part of the job at this point. He just extended a hand and let Mrs. Wordrof squeeze his while she cried and he waited.

And thanked every star in the sky for everything he’d escaped with from the war.

“Is there anything you’d like to speak with her about?” Sirius asked when she calmed.

He spent the next fifteen minutes being the intermediary for the two, watching Mrs. Wordrof pick her slow and painful way through grief for the death of her daughter.

When they were finished, Sirius brought out the map he’d bought at the gift store of the town. He figured it might be useful for this one in particular. Geneva showed him where to mark and he gave the map to Mrs. Wordrof, so she might get something of her daughter to bury.

He left her then, refused to take payment. Someone needed to get this job done, and he had a feeling that Geneva would not linger here much longer. There was no money to be made in helping a soul pass.

Mrs. Wordrof was so distracted, still teary, that she forgot to send him home with cauldron cakes (she would never forget, were she at her best).

When he left her house, Geneva followed him to the doorstep and they paused together, he heaved a sigh.

“Well! That’s wrapped up. What are you off to tonight?” The half moon hung over them and the night was half dark with its shadow.

“Oh the usual. You know, strolling the town, peaking in the neighbor’s houses. Spooking house cats.”

“Oh, you sneaky girl, that’s unethical you know.”

She laughed. A ghost’s laugh, in a distant vacuum where it couldn’t echo off the porch step and dissipate into the air like his own would.

“How _can_ you see me, if you don’t mind? No one else has ever seen me, beside the other ghosts.”

“Don’t know!” Sirius shrugged, “I’ve just always been able to. I’ve heard of other people who could but who knows, really.”

“Huh.” She frowned. “How come everyone can see _some_ ghosts? Like Peeves at school?”

“Oh, Peeves.” Sirius smiled. “Those ghosts are settled here to stay, so they show up for most people. Ghosts like you aren’t, you’re just waiting for the right time to move on.” He gave her a look. “That’s the working theory. No one really knows.”

“That’s such shit.” She grumbled, “How can you just not know?”

“That’s the way it goes, doesn’t it!” Sirius grinned and pulled a pack of smokes out to light one up. “All of the best questions are the ones with no answers.”

“Oh,” She scowled grumpily. “Whatever.”

He took a first drag and blew it out merrily into the night, lifting a hand to wave at a local passing by on the street toward their home.

“You really have a boyfriend?” Geneva asked.

“Yes, I do. Why, you have a problem?” He watched as the stranger lifted their head over their shoulder to see who he was talking to.

“No, obviously not.” Geneva muttered. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Well, I wish _that_ were the general rule, wouldn’t that be nice.” He snarked to his cigarette playfully, the end of it glowing a rosy cherry in the dark.

“Well…” She hesitated. “What’s he like?”

“Like if you crossed a librarian with an undercover agent, who’s also an old man but he’s still trouble.” He tilted his head at the moon and considered the merit of this evaluation with a subtle smile.

“Is he _actually_ an old man?” She asked incredulously, giving him a delightfully scandalous look.

“No, no, no, he just dresses like one. Damned if it doesn’t look fucking tops anyway, if you ask me.”

“Huh.” She frowned. “Actually… Actually I had a girlfriend. When I was- you know. Before.”

Sirius looked over at her, gaze evening out at the admission. Looking at her with the cool acceptance of a companion in this.

“What was she like?” Sirius returned the gesture. Geneva looked down and shrugged.

“Just wonderful. You know.” She murmured. And he did know. “Listen. I had one more favor… I wanted to ask you.”

“Hit me with it.” Sirius hummed, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

“I know it’s not… I was hoping I could take you to my body.”

Sirius rolled the cigarette in his fingers and thought for a split second. _Her body in the lake._

“Sure, Geneva. What’s a late night for the two of us, hm?”

He smiled over at her, took a drag. Viewed from the street, he stood there, head turned to no one, sharing the step with an empty space.

“You can call me Gen.”

He blew out smoke and stepped out the butt of the cigarette.

“Lead the way, Gen.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her across town. They strolled slowly and chatted together about all the details of the streets she grew up on. At the edge of the town they dissipated like apparitions into the tree line of a dark forest, walking without even the light of his wand, letting the forest eat every sound they made, kill every word that Geneva breathed while she told him how she’d gotten here.

“It was near the end of things, you know, things were bad everywhere.” She said quietly, and he walked alongside her, seemingly a lone figure in danger of getting lost in the black of night. “I was with Claire, that night. We were just walking, you know. And there were wizards on the street. They just started hassling us. They knew she wasn’t like us, she was a muggle. And I fought back.”

Her voice trailed off into a self-explanatory silence. They walked for a while and the sounds of the night snapped under their feet and rustled over their heads. Sirius was long accustomed to these noises. Geneva was long accustomed to her grave.

He sensed a clearing ahead, a thinning of the trees and a freeing of the breeze.

They emerged upon a lake, lapping quietly in the night at the darkened shore. The lackluster moonlight rocked on the surface lightly. They paused on the shore. Neither spoke, just watched and listened. Someone would drag the lake soon, looking for her. But looking at it now, it was obvious no human eye had seen this place in years. The silence was oppressive, cloying in his mind.

“Fucking lakes.” Sirius whispered. His eyes were flat and empty as he stared. He refused to imagine inferi, an untouched island deep in a cave.

Geneva watched the black water with a similar distance, but much, much farther. She seemed to go farther with every second past. Drifting.

“Does your mother know about Claire?” He asked.

“No.” She breathed. “No.”

He hummed and they watched for a few more moments, while Sirius returned the light to his eyes.

“She’ll feel better. Knowing what happened to you.” He told her.

“Thank you.” She said and waited again while they stared into the long dark before she managed to speak. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot. It’s been a long time… just me here.”

Just her and the moon. And the eyes of the trees watching down on the belly of the lake, locking away her body where her family never could find it, where no one would see but her own wandering soul as it waited to be let go, losing time in the dark of the forest.

“You’re welcome.” Sirius told her. He hoped she’d move on soon, he figured she would. She hardly seemed to know he was even here anymore. He turned into the trees back the way he came and left her on the shore. An empty shore, to anyone who looked.

* * *

Sirius apparated onto the balcony of the flat he shared with Remus with a careless twist. Remus always apparated onto the street below, where he wasn’t at risk of missing the landing and falling off all together. Sirius liked to push his luck, if only to save himself the flight of stairs, and he hadn’t missed yet.

He took in the cold London night. The warmth of the daylight had seeped out of the streets in the time he had spent in the village. Plumes of smoke drifted up from rooftops, illuminated by the dim glow of this end of the city. The buildings sprawled into the visible distance, disappearing as if London didn’t have any end or beginning. It was cold and damp. The puddles below gleamed and winked back at him.

He looked to the sky and watched a thin sheet of clouds drift before the moon. It was a waxing, fattening body in the sky. A slow, horror filled sight hanging overhead to some. Or a clock to others. One of his tattoos would reflect the same shape.

He turned to the door and pushed inside, humming pleasantly at the sudden press of the warm air.

“Oh, honey!” He chimed, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over the arm of the couch.

“In here.” Remus called back, voice muffled through the doorway to the bedroom. Sirius heard him murmur on in conversation. He listened absently, half listening and half letting his thoughts wander, as he made tea in the kitchen for the both of them. His thoughts were numerous and busy, especially in December.

Remus talked in the bedroom, the low scratch of his voice dampened with distance, and he warmed his hands over the kettle as he thought over all the possible gifts he could buy for Harry this Christmas. He had it in the bag; a toy broom, and magical stuffed toy that changed shapes between a stag, a wolf, and a dog. He staired at the steam rising, thought about what to get James. Then what to get Lily. He pulled down two cups and wished the elder Potters had survived the war, because it would be a sore spot for he and James, an empty space where Harry’s grandparents should be.

 _What remains of the day…_ His lips formed silently over his thoughts as he checked the water and stared with a glazed look.

He had Regulus to thank for what remained, Harry and Lily and Remus and James _._ It could have been him, who had to find his family and see their destruction, like so many others had done.

He blinked, eyelids fluttering, picked up the kettle and poured the water into the cups. He was back to thinking of Christmas gifts.

He strolled into the bedroom with a growing smile. The kind of mindless reflex that always came with coming home to Remus.

There he was, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of a chess board, his elbows on his knees and his hands propping up his chin. Across from him at the board was Regulus, and a Ouija board. He was sitting up straight, except to use the board to communicate his moves.

“Hey Sirius,” Regulus intoned with a glance at him over his shoulder, overlapping with Remus’, “Hey Pads.”

“Regulus.” Sirius gave him a smile as he crouched down beside Remus and set his tea beside him. “Darling.” He kissed his temple just as Remus leaned back with a sigh and a stiff creak, picking up his cup and taking a sip.

“How are we today.” Sirius sighed, settling down on the floor beside the two and watching them play.

“We’re fine, thank god you’re here. This game is taking forever.” Regulus muttered. “Pawn to E4.”

“Well, it’s lovely to see you, too.” Sirius drawled languidly, raising a brow as he took a sip.

“Just _tell him what I said!”_ Regulus rushed out just as Remus opened his mouth to respond.

“All’s well. Nice quiet evening.” He groaned, stretching a bit as Regulus growled and rolled his eyes. It was a tale as old as time, pulling his little brother’s pigtails and aggravating him. Remus rubbed his tired eyes and cradled his cup in one hand, he must have worked on old rune scripts all day long. The ancient runes were scattered all across the desk in the corner. Dumbledore had gotten him a job after the war. Sirius thinks if he hadn’t done something to repay Remus for the work he’d done, he may have shown up in the headmaster’s office and finally let the old man have every little piece of his mind that he’d been keeping in check, until it eventually devolved into some kind of magical duel which Sirius would unfortunately lose but it would be worth it. Fortunately, Dumbledore had done something good for Remus again, employed him, saved them both from the trouble.

“Did Regulus tell you his move yet?” Remus asked promptly.

“ _Yes.”_ Regulus’ lip curled down where he gave Sirius a glare.

“Pawn to E4.” He supplied. “No, that one.” Remus moved the piece for Regulus and they both leaned back into their game.

Sirius watched them play and expedited the process by translating for his ghost brother. His eyes skated over Remus and he though he shouldn’t be sitting on the floor for so long if it was going to make him stiff and achy during a waxing moon. But he kept his comment to himself, smartly.

Remus had always enjoyed chess, back in school. Peter was his main opponent, who was quite good at the game himself. James was alright but didn’t care for it. Sirius was fairly good, actually, but he could never avoid his impatience. Remus would set a baited trap for him and Sirius tended to fall for them. He had a good understanding of how to attack effectively but Remus always had more back up plans. He still put up a good fight, won his fair share of games against Remus. But no one could keep up a game against him like Regulus. Their games could last for hours, for multiple days. Regulus typically played a long game like weaving a web around Remus, sacrificing pieces and planning ahead to slowly close in on the king. But Remus’ defenses were almost always perfect, his offensive plays more straight forward and conservative but crippling nonetheless.

Eventually, just as Remus made a move for Regulus’ side of the board, he spoke up.

“I want to castle.” Reg said, leaned forward with a hand covering his mouth as he stared at the board.

“He wants to castle.” Sirius relayed.

“No,” Remus leaned back and rubbed his face with his hands, grumbling. “Fucking hell…”

“Castle.” Regulus repeated and Sirius leaned forward to do it for him. Remus sighed long and stared at the board for a moment before grumbling into his tea.

“I’m done for the night, Reg, sorry.”

“Fine.” Regulus leaned back on his hands. “It’s quite late anyway.”

“He resigns.” Sirius said. Regulus rolled his eyes, ever long suffering, and flopped back onto his back as Remus chuckled. (“I did _not resign.”_ )

“He did not resign.” Remus said, set his cup down and started packing up the board and the pieces as Sirius grinned.

“No, he didn’t.” Sirius crawled forward to his side and ran a hand over the back of his shoulders, nuzzling against his hair. “Would you like a smoke?”

“That’s my queue.” Regulus sat up and made to wander out of the room.

“Bye, Reg.” Sirius lifted his head to him. “Goodnight. Are you going out?”

“Taking a walk.” He paused at the door.

“Stay here tonight, if you want.” Sirius said, staring at his eyes, grey just like his own. Regulus liked to wander London at night alone, but Sirius never could stand the thought of him wandering like any specter. But no matter what he did, when his consciousness eventually drifted out, he would always find himself waking up back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Regulus said, “Goodnight.” And he slipped out.

“Goodnight.” Sirius hummed back. He turned his attention back to Remus, helping him up off the floor. He could hear Remus thinking about Sirius thinking about how he shouldn’t sit on the floor if it made him stiff, but they held their tongues neatly.

Sirius jumped on the bed and sprawled back to stare at the ceiling while Remus changed into a thin cotton shirt before coming to bed. He twined a lock of his black hair around a finger and wiggled his feet mindlessly and arrhythmically while Remus shuffled around against the headboard, sighing and shifting.

“How was work today,” Sirius hummed while Remus leaned against the headboard and flipped through a book he kept at the bedside.

“Fine.” He mumbled. “Had lunch with Lily and Harry.”

Sirius gasped, “If you don’t stop that you’ll be his favorite. I have to be his favorite.”

Remus tutted under his breath, “I don’t know. You know it’s a lot easier to say Moony than Padfoot. I can’t help that.”

“I have to be his favorite.” Sirius looked up at him, tilting his head back with an easy smile. “I’m his godfather! Make it easy for me would you?”

Remus’ lips twitched just so as his eyes skimmed the pages and his hand reached down to tangle in his hair, threading it and giving a soft tug. “I’m afraid you’ll have to keep up on your own.”

“How was Reg today?” Sirius hummed, closing his eyes and focusing on the little tickling feel of the fingers in his hair.

“Well, since I haven’t suddenly gained the ability to see him, I wouldn’t know. We played chess. He made the lights flicker. Typical.” Sirius hummed, thinking about his brother, thinking about James, and Harry, and Lily. “How was your appointment?”

“Successful.” Sirius murmured. “Helped a girl return her body to her parents. Had a nice chat.”

Remus was quiet for a bit until Sirius tipped his head back to look up at him. Remus looked back, eyes flickering over his face though his expression wouldn’t change. He leaned over him, dipping down to press a kiss upside down to his mouth. Sirius pressed up into it, legs curling up and fingers brushing his shirt, chasing the brief and chaste touch. As he pulled back, Sirius turned over onto his hands and knees and crawled over him to slide into his lap.

Remus tipped his head back to be kissed, arms drifting around him thoughtlessly.

“Forget the smoke?” Sirius whispered into his mouth. They’d been doing so well, since the war had ended. Slowly inching toward each other where trust lay. Recuperating their grip on each other, trying to grasp hands again.

Trust each other with their secrets, _I don’t want to be left alone._ Trust each other with their schemes and plans, _I’ll take the map, you take the cloak._ Trust each other with their flaws, _I’m not good._

Despite their foundation, they’d found ways to make betrayal between them.

It seemed somewhat familiar, this. The sliding hands, _is that okay?_ The teeth and soft pressure on skin, _we’re okay?_ The pressing close when no one pushes back, _we’re okay._

He wanted this to be the last time. He wanted them to settle like this. He thought they could, if he just learned from the past. Their lessons had come too quickly, too cruelly. But he was sure they could learn how to keep that thread of unbreakable trust between them that had appeared somewhere between eleven and thirteen years old, woven until it was sure, _I’ll watch your back and you’ll watch mine._

Nothing was easy, and they’d pulled at that thread more than once before. But he had hope for it, grasped in shaking hands, still.

* * *

After dinner at the Potters, they gathered in the doorway, saying goodbyes. Regulus lingered on the stairwell, out of the way, watching. Since the war had ended, he watched Sirius’ life closely. Even in moments like this.

“Padfoot!” Harry shouted, reaching up his arms as Sirius chatted with Lily. He turned and scooped the boy into the air, tossing him in a bounce and tucking him into his chest with a big smile. James was even braver with throwing Harry in the air. Harry babbled about Santa Claus, a muggle story that Lily had told him, and Sirius listened intently.

“The next time I see you, I’ll have all kinds of presents for you,” Sirius told him conspiratorially. He leaned in close to tell him as if a secret, and Harry listened with wide eyed import. “And I bet you mine is even better than Santa Claus.”

“Really?” Harry seemed to believe his uncle Padfoot must be right.

“We will see!” Sirius slid over to Remus who was leaning on the banister chatting with James and plopped Harry into his arms. Remus’ mouth quirked up softly and he adjusted his hold on him.

Lily and Sirius reconvened, secretly planning gifts for everyone, and the walkway was full of chatter carrying on. Barely adults who were in no rush to part quite yet. Perhaps escaping the war alive had caused them all to hesitate in parting when time comes, faced with all the lost lives.

It could be a struggle sometimes still, even tonight had been strained between he and Remus in some ways. And it seemed like the tension never quite left his spine. But he was determined.

“Is Reg still hanging around?” Lily asked.

“Right over there.” Sirius waved a hand and nodded toward his little brother, the ghost of him, sat on the steps, hands clasped and elbows on his knees, patiently listening to chatter. His eyes shifted over to Sirius and Lily, who was looking in his general direction. Regulus had a dark, weighty presence at times. In the way he observed the world. There was a gravity in his shoulders and head.

He used to wave or nod, in the first six months, as if he’d forgotten he was dead. These days he didn’t bother unless for Sirius.

“How is he?” Lily asked.

“Fine.” Sirius shrugged, “Living his best life, traveling constantly, I hear ghost wine is a true delicacy.”

Lily gave him a mild look of amusement. “Well, tell him Merry Christmas from me.”

Sirius hummed and nodded, looking over at him. Regulus just turned his head away distractedly to listen to Remus and James.

“Alright,” Remus gave a wide yawn. He’d always been one to fall asleep early and wake up late. “I’m ready to get in bed.”

“Goodnight.” Harry smiled, still wrapped around his neck.

“Goodnight, little Potter.” Remus gave him a kiss on the head, hand scrubbing over his back roughly, giving him a pat. He passed him over to James who gave him a one armed hug before coming over to Sirius to squeeze him tight with Harry to one side.

“See you on Christmas Eve?” James asked.

“Certainly.” Sirius smiled, squeezing tight to him before the group parted and Sirius and Remus wandered out the door with Regulus behind.

“Let’s walk for a moment.” Sirius asked, pulling out a pack from his jacket pocket. The three of them meandered down the road, taking the time to enjoy the night air. He knew Remus didn’t feel like a walk, but he indulged him anyway. Sirius smoked a cigarette, tilted his head to look at the stars, finding himself, his brother.

He felt a sharp tug in his chest back toward the Potters. He wanted, just for a moment, to go back and say goodbye again. Check on them. As if to reassure himself that James was here, still. Still unchanging. They could keep each other’s secrets, stare out at the world as if twins. He still dreamt, sometimes, in his mind he would be standing in the yard in front of the Potter home and he’d get a feeling in his body, in his soul. A horrible space filling up his chest, dropping through his stomach like a shot and ringing up his neck into the crown of his head. Something empty and evil filling his cells like an ancient living thing. He’d turn his head slowly, like the universe itself slowed, and there would be the dark mark above their home, his wide eyes reflecting the morbid world. He would watch that emerald star hanging over them, a sword of Damocles, a sentence, and the wind would blow but he wouldn’t hear anything. The world would end, in his dream, like this. Then he would wake.

He thought of those dreams when he parted from James. Knew that James had known fear like it, because they’d talked about it. Those nightmares were nothing more than offset recreations of experiences he had already lived through. Most of them he’d witnessed without his friends.

Sirius was so accustomed to that old obsessive need to say goodbye twice that he could shake them from his thoughts now. The nightmares too, he woke from as if simple dreams. They strolled quietly through the village street, commenting on the holiday decorations and lights on all the houses.

His mind wandered back. He glanced at Remus’ profile, glowing in the Christmas lights. The fog huffing from his lips as he gazed at the houses they passed.

He remembered the fear, a heavy stench hanging in the air. There had seemed no way out, back then. Even with everything they’d done, no way to make it out in time. No matter how many battles they’d fought. No matter the people they’d killed, struck down without a backward glance. No matter the way his hands had shook, speechless with soft shock, when he’d killed that first person. A death eater. It was kill or be killed. But killing was still killing.

And Remus. The faith they’d kept in each other, how it teetered so darkly under the crushing weight of the secrets. The constant security checking, the wondering.

 _Name the map we created together,_ when they’d come home at night. _What did my mother get you for Christmas last year? Tell me where you were today. Tell me what you were doing tonight. Tell me who you are. Tell me you’re the same, tell me you’re still my friend. Tell me we still run together._

They’d been in pieces, when Regulus died. And so close to losing the war. Then he’d come to Sirius. He’d shown up. Told him he was in danger, told him everything that was coming. Told him the poison, the rat in their ranks.

It had saved their lives, saved the world.

When he looked over his shoulder his little brother was trailing along. Dead but still lingering. Watching the Christmas lights, watching his older brother walk in step with Remus.

“That house is nice.” Remus murmured, pointing at it to the side of the street where they passed.

“Do you want it?” Sirius asked, looking into Remus’ incredulous eyes with a wide eyed earnest stare.

“Unbelievable.” Regulus whispered, smacking a hand to his forehead. Sirius scowled at him while Remus stared at him, although altogether unsurprised.

“Do I _want_ the house.” Remus deadpanned, a flicker of amusement crossing his gaze as they carried on through the village.

“Yes.” Sirius insisted. “I could look into it. If you like it.”

“Sirius.” Regulus spoke up, gesturing importantly. “ _Think_ before you _speak.”_ Regulus and Remus, despite their differences, seemed to operate on a closely similar wavelength. For this, Regulus often tried to coach Sirius in his campaigns. Encouraging him not to piss Remus off or otherwise deter him.

Sirius shot him a quick roll of his eyes. Remus stared at him, his steps slowing, as he parsed out his words. He was remembering him, before the war. Wondering where this was coming from. In all honesty, it wasn’t out of character. But that was because he knew him. He knew the gentleness in Sirius’ body right after the full moon, even at twelve years old, so instinctively aware of the pain he was in. Everyone knew the compelling and the harshness of him, but Remus had seen the rest like a stolen peek behind a curtain.

“Is this like your James moment. Your shotgun wedding.” Remus asked with a curious amusement.

“What, the wedding and the pregnancy? You mean because of the war? It’s a bit late for that isn’t it.”

“How should I know. You’re so full of surprises.” Remus looked at the street with an easy smile.

“Well, it’s true.” Sirius wrapped a gentle hand around his arm, pulling him to stop. “I want to find a place. A home.”

Remus’ smile drifted down and his eyes swam with all the thoughts and examinations he would surely be doing. The testing of this idea, the culling of it, shaking Sirius’ impulses down to see if they could stand up to it.

“What could possibly be wrong with that.” Sirius asked, staring at him with a frown, as he stared back. “I love you, I have for _some_ time now, I know what I want. I even know what _you_ want.”

Remus quirked a brow at that, saying _do you now?_ with a quirk of his lips. Sirius tossed his head.

“Maybe I don’t know everything you want. But I know you would want this. Everyone does. I want it with you.”

“I know.” Remus murmured lowly, glancing with a flicker at the ground toward where he knew Regulus was standing. “I just wanted to take some time, after everything. To get things right again before we… settled down.”

Sirius was quiet. No one could hold eye contact, so peacefully, with him quite like Remus could.

“I’m ready whenever you are.” Sirius said even and quiet. “Nothing will change that. I just want to make something that’s ours.”

Home. A confirmation of their faith in each other. Their choice. Despite it all. He wanted to sow a house with their magic, like burnishing clay, so that the walls rung with the intersection of the two of them. He wanted to steep something of their own with time, to stand as a product of them.

Who knows, maybe they could get married in secret. Adopt a stray.

“I know you want that.” Sirius whispered. A more loving brand of his arrogant conviction.

“Of course I do.” Remus said instantly. Then added sardonically, “The devil’s in the details.”

“Don’t think so hard, Moony.” As if everything was truly as simple as he said it was. And Remus looked away, thinking that he was right, in fact. Some things are simple.

“Well, I don’t want _that_ house.” He hummed nonchalantly, strolling on. Sirius looked back at Regulus with excitement and Regulus gave him two thumbs up. “Much too stately.”

“Too stately, hm?” Sirius swiftly drew his wand from his jacket and with a wordless wave conjured a notepad and pencil, pretending to take notes urgently.

Remus laughed, such a long familiar sound. “Put that away.”

Sirius tossed the notepad aside which vanished, swinging an arm over his shoulders to draw him close and kiss his face with a great beaming smile. Remus chuckled, ducking his head under the affection. When Sirius looked over his shoulder to smile at his brother, he was gone.

His grin fell thoughtfully.

“Shall we get home, Moony?” He murmured. Shifted his hands so his fingers curled around his bicep. Remus had never enjoyed apparating, even in school. His body had quite enough of being twisted and pulled each month without being squeezed through time and space.

“Yes.” Remus nodded and Sirius snapped them into space, toward home, for now.

* * *

“Merry Christmas Eve.” Regulus murmured on the balcony. Sirius looked up at him from his chair, one leg crossed over the other. He smirked softly and blew out a stream of smoke with an amused hum. The cigarette end glowed at his fingers, balanced in his long delicate hand.

“Nowhere better to be but here?” His foot bounced in the air mindlessly as he looked up at the darkened sky.

“Very funny.” Regulus mumbled, leaned against the railing to watch over this end of London. Sirius had to take his cigarette outside to avoid little Harry, who was currently playing toys with Remus, James and Lily gathered in the warm flat with them. He’d usually skip the smoke break to keep inside where the holiday spirit lingered, but his mind had been distracted lately. The open air helped.

And it was nice to get breaks like this with Regulus. He’d been holding conversations with ghosts all his life, in the company of living people, who couldn’t participate. He didn’t pay it any mind. But it could be easier sometimes, to be alone with them.

“See yourself up there?” Regulus asked, head tilted back to look up at the sky as well.

“Hardly.” Sirius chuckled. “Not even I can outshine the London fog, not to mention the light pollution.”

“Little easier to see the sky around Grimmauld.” Regulus responded absently, looking at the underbelly of the clouds floating over them. They were grey and lit gently by the city lights glowing from the earth, wandering so slowly over the night before Christmas.

It is easier to see the stars near Grimmauld Place, some of them. The estate stands in a quieter part of the city, a residential area for the wealthy. There is less traffic and no commercial buildings to light the grounds. The only disturbances are the streetlamps. Decorative, austere, spaced between trees that lined the streets. Just to let visitors know they were in the nice part of town.

Even the streets were quieter. Sirius had always been discomforted by silence. He could remember taking long walks, as a young boy, to escape the quiet empty clean streets and find the noise of the crowds and the lights of the city reflecting off the Thames, the vendors selling the strong scent of food.

“I should probably get back in soon.” Sirius said, tapping the ashes off and taking a brusque drag. Regulus turned around, leaning his back against the railing and crossing his arms while he looked in the glass door at the people inside.

“Nice little family you made there.” He said, watching James gesture wildly with a wooden spoon in hand while the others laughed.

Sirius looked away from them to stare at his brother. His first brother.

He stood and came up beside him at the rail, leaning back against it and crossing one arm over his ribs to prop an elbow on so he could hold his smoke away. The two of them shaped like similar silhouettes, shoulders sloped in the same architecture, heads held high in the same imperial gaze despite it all. Tall, and handsome, one traditionally and one more romantically but both of them classically beautiful.

“I wasn’t sure how it would go, you meeting all of them.” Sirius said to him, looking over at his face despite the familiar defensive guilt that attempted to guard him.

“I didn’t meet all of them.” He said plainly, sort of ironically. Sirius had explained to everyone the situation with Reg, had mediated conversations between them. The others would talk to Regulus when they saw Sirius talking to him, even if they couldn’t see him. But no, he supposes he hadn’t ever met them properly.

“Well, I suppose I mean you getting to know them.” Sirius rasped on an exhale.

“I didn’t expect them to be so nice.” Regulus said. “Except Lily. She was always kind to Severus.”

“Why not?” Sirius frowned.

“Well, _you’re_ not terribly nice.” He said mildly, raising a brow at him. “Neither was James in school. And I know Remus came up with that charm that caused all of the Slytherins to tell everyone their sex kinks, even the professors.” _Not to mention him standing by while you bullied Severus,_ he thought but diplomatically did not say.

“Well, whatever.” Sirius griped, “This isn’t very in the Christmas spirit of you, you know.”

Regulus was quiet but for a little smile, waiting for a moment before he spoke again. “Well, turns out they’re not so bad. They’ve got a lot of heart.”

Sirius hummed, mollified. Glad he didn’t need to defend James or Remus. They _were_ both kind, and not just for what they’d done for Sirius.

They were quiet as he watched them, watched Remus and Lily talking while Harry played on the floor. Just the shape of their mouths, silent through the door, the shifting of their shoulders.

“I was worried, actually.” Sirius finally said. But his voice was steady and matter of fact. “I didn’t want you to see, I think… see me and James. And everyone, you know. And Harry…”

“You mean see that you got a new family.” Regulus said evenly like his brother. Sirius’ eyes lowered, a quiet pause lingering between them.

“Yes.” He murmured. Took another drag and dropped the butt to crush underfoot.

“Well, we already knew that.” Regulus said. “I wouldn’t think you to be ashamed of it. Not like you.”

“I wasn’t ashamed of it. I’m proud of them. And our family was a sack of shit.” He left it at that. Didn’t address the guilt of it, because guilt runs so close with shame that the difference is hard to spot if it matters at all.

He wasn’t even sure he understood it. The pride in his loyalty to Remus and the Potters. And the protective, guilty reluctancy to let Regulus see him with them.

“What do you want for Christmas, Reg.” Sirius asked, brushing the hair off his shoulder and looking over at him. He raised his brow at the question and huffed out an amused exhale, glancing up at the sky.

“Some peace and quiet.” He grumbled.

Sirius’ expression dropped softly but surely. His chest squeezing and his body freezing up softly.

“I was worried you might say something like that.”

Regulus’ expression fell as well to something more honest and solemn. “That’s what you do isn’t it.” He lowered his head to meet his gaze. “Help ghosts find rest.”

“Sometimes. The ones that are looking for it.” Regulus nodded slowly, staring inside again. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

Regulus didn’t answer but he asked, “What would you do?”

“Depends.” Sirius shifted his weight off his sleepy leg. “Everyone needs something different. Most people are waiting for something. Some kind of help or some kind of change. That or someday they just stop caring and disappear. It depends on what’s keeping you here.”

Regulus was silent and Sirius watched him, his eyes shifting over the movement inside the warm, low yellow den. The Christmas tree inside glittered unfocused from the corner there.

“I don’t know about all of that. But I know I can’t get away from the house.” He looked at his feet and whispered, “I always wake up there, no matter how far I go… I’m tired of waking up there.”

Sirius grit his teeth at the thought, regretful of it. “I didn’t know you disliked it so much there.”

“Of course, I do.” Regulus rolled his eyes and shook his head at the thought, glaring darkly. “The place was miserable. I didn’t hate it as much as you and I didn’t make such a mess out of it but I hate it too.”

Sirius looked at him, chest constricting. “Me too.”

Regulus propped his hands on the rail at his lower back, sighing deeply. “So what’s your professional advice, then?”

 _Fuck if I know, I’m just a medium, and you’re just my dead little brother. This cannot come down to me._ He thought, blinking and knowing the answer was obvious.

“I’d rather hear your thoughts, actually.” Sirius said instead, meeting his eyes. It didn’t take Regulus long.

“I suppose I can’t wake up there anymore if there’s no house to go to.”

_There we go._

They looked at each other evenly, considering the prospect.

“I’ve seen it work before.” Sirius said.

He thought, _this isn’t fair. How should I go about killing the last of my brother, I can’t be expected to feel this away again, to grieve twice._

_The war is already over._

It’s not fair. But neither is this half-life. This haunting. For either of them, and Sirius had had experience with ghosts and the sense of desperation, starvation, gauntness and emptiness, hidden in the background of their spirits however cheerful they be. Behind their eyes, however they smiled. This was, in fact, what he does.

“Is that really what you want?” Sirius asked, just to be sure.

“Yeah.” Regulus answered. Uncharacteristically open.

“And how would you like to do it?” He asked, contemplating the demolition.

“I’d like to hear your thoughts, actually.” Regulus echoed his words, smiling smoothly and crossing his arms. “I think if anyone should have first pick… You must have fantasized about it, really.”

Sirius met his eyes and a sort of still, off, hungriness ticked in his stare. A shade of the dog in the forbidden forest, reflective eyes in the dark. Without a doubt, he offered darkly.

“Fire.”

Regulus smiled more openly, chuckling eventually. “Fitting. It has drama and flare, but straightforward. Your style.”

“Maybe we could put fireworks in the house! It could be a whole light show!” Sirius got ahead of himself, smiling maniacally, innocently excited.

“Why don’t we cross that bridge when we get there.” Regulus said mildly, wincing slightly at the idea. “We have time as we need to search the house before we destroy it.” Sirius pulled a face and tipped his head back at the prospect.

“Fine.” Sirius allowed. “It’s time someone ended that horrible place, it’s been around plenty long enough. Housing the worst ideals Britain has to offer.”

He hummed in noncommittal reply and watched Remus come out of the hall from the bedroom back into the sitting room, bending to pick up a toy tossed by Harry. He was wearing a holiday jumper, red and green.

“Are you going recruit them?” Regulus asked. He shrugged a shoulder.

“I’ll tell them in the morning, after presents. They’ll probably come along for part.” He realized with a frown that his friends had never actually been inside Grimmauld Place. All the better for them, really. Grimmauld could not have a healthy effect on a werewolf, or any half-blood. James might be alright.

“It’s Christmas Eve.” Regulus said then. Sirius looked over at him. His gaze was distant. It seemed he’d forgotten entirely, what day it was.

“Yes.” Sirius whispered. He hated that they could not touch, hated that even if they could what would he do? It had been more than a decade since they’d even known how to touch, to play or comfort, as brothers.

He wanted to comfort him. Like he would when they were small and Regulus cried.

“You should get inside, before the boy leaves.” Regulus said.

_My godson, Harry._

Sirius stepped forward and made for the door, turning to him once more.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Regulus nodded, making no move. “Merry Christmas.”

Something tight and strained showed in his face. “Merry Christmas.”

He went inside, into the warmth again, back where he could pick Harry up by the arms and dangle him in front of him to give him a bright laugh. When he looked at the door to the balcony again, Regulus was gone, as he’d expected.

* * *

“ _Great_.” Sirius griped. Arms crossed, standing in the grandiose foyer of their childhood home.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Regulus stood beside him, hands in his pockets. A less than pleased expression on his own face.

“It’s the holiday season. Do we really have to do this now?” Sirius huffed and started off toward the back of the first floor, through the sitting room.

“I’d prefer not to have to see the next year.” Regulus replied, striding behind his brother in the familiar gate. Long and smooth and tall. Confident.

Sirius stopped in his tracks and turned around in one, leveling him with a scolding stare, causing him to stop abruptly to avoid running into him.

“Don’t say things like that.” Sirius said.

Something reproachful and defiant flashed in Regulus’ eyes. So different from the even, empty expression he reserved for others. He opened his mouth as if to retort and Sirius interrupted him.

“Out of respect for your dear brother’s feelings.” He smiled quickly.

“Your _feelings?”_ He pulled a face between discomfort and consternation.

“Yes! And respect for your elders. Either will do, really. Just be more delicate about your own death.” Sirius turned before he could complain and set off while he grumbled behind him, surely rolling his eyes.

“My _elders.”_

They were both scared half out of their clothes at the sound of their mother, screaming at the top of her lungs. They jumped away and Sirius drew his wand at the sound, only to realize it had come from their mother’s portrait in the hall.

“ _Sirius Orion Black! You dare enter this estate! Blood-traitor! You shame yourself and your family, you disgrace your family name by mingling with **mudbloods** and **muggles** and the **impure!** How dare you embarrass me, you don’t deserve the name of Black, I should –“ _The boys finally figured what to do with her, Sirius scrambling to wrestle shut the curtains drawn around the painting.

“ _Shut. Up.”_ He panted, fingers gripped tight around curtain and leaning against it while Regulus hovered somewhat anxiously.

“She’s certainly in a mood.” Regulus breathed heavily. “You should charm the curtains shut. She might have some magic lingering around enough to open them.”

Sirius drew his wand one handed and flicked it at the curtains with spite, wordlessly sealing them. Sure enough the curtains seemed to flap slightly as if settling against their will. He stood up, fingers staying curled around his wand. Glowering in the relieving silence.

Thankful that his entire family was either imprisoned or dead. Thankful twice that the parents were dead.

“She never was much pleased with you… even before the sorting.” Regulus mumbled carefully, to ease the tension.

“Does she not know what you did?” Sirius turned to him.

“Gods, no. I hope not.” Regulus tossed a wide glance at the curtains. “The painting must have been finished before she found out.”

They both looked at the curtains for a moment.

“Well, let’s make sure it stays that way.” Sirius muttered. Regulus nodded firmly.

There was a knock on the door - someone didn’t want to use the brass doorknocker - which caused the two to turn sharply toward the curtains which shook at the sound ominously, threateningly. Fortunately, they did not open again.

Sirius made for the door and opened it to see his friends gathered on the step, each of them with wide curious eyes peeking into the house, each of them including _Harry._

“ _Harry?”_ Sirius’ eyes were wide and manic, as if this was the last thing in a long list of things his nerves were not in agreement with today.

“Yes?” Lily asked with a weird look at him, while Harry turned his head to greet him cheerily.

“No!” Sirius smiled at her, shaking his head sharply. “No, no, no! No. He cannot come in here.”

“We couldn’t find anyone to watch him on short notice.” James shrugged, looking partly concerned.

“Well, someone will have to be found, then.” He glared at him before Lily interrupted.

“Sirius, I’m sure it’s fine.” She hiked him up in her grip. “I think you’re probably overreacting. It’s just a house. Now are you going to make me stand on this step all day long.”

Sirius stared at her while she waited stubbornly. James frowning and Remus glancing between them mildly.

“Sirius, it’s fine.” Regulus spoke up behind him. Sirius, glad no one could hear him for that, twitched just so in the brows and then reached for the toddler, requesting him from Lily and picking him up.

“Give him, give him here.” He muttered, pulling him into his arms.

“By all means.” Lily panned mildly, slightly amused. Harry babbled happily and wrapped his arms around his neck with a bright, _Pad!_

Sirius wrapped him in close and securely, chattering to him in return distractedly while he stepped back and waved everyone inside. James was giving him a concerned look, hovering closer to Sirius and Harry than the rest of them, eyes darting around the entryway. Sirius felt distinctly like an overworked sheep dog, not sure who needed his protection most.

“Well.” Lily spoke, hands clasped politely before her as she stood – brazenly if you ask him – in the hall. “Quite the impressive house you have here.”

“Yeah.” James frowned discerningly, taking in the detailing on the walls and stairwells and ceiling for the first time. “Really.”

James’ parents had plenty of money and a nice home, but it wasn’t anything quite like this, which was a nice change when he’d moved in with the Potters. The curtains over the portrait trembled and his eyes darted toward it, but it settled instantly.

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” The others looked over at him with wide blinks and Sirius scowled.

“Well, show us around?” Lily asked.

“We’ll start with the dining room.” Sirius muttered, leading the way while keeping a restless eye on them. James and Remus both followed him closely, moving together, as if taking his lead in caution. Much like they would have in the school halls toward the kitchens, after curfew, and then when approaching a death eater hideout.

Lily did not seem to fear anything but death itself.

They made it to the dining room, a spacious and tall room with a long mahogany table, dressed in a long ivory cloth that hung over the table. The room followed a general color scheme of dark wood, ivory, ebony and silver.

The group paused, looking around at the trophies, emblems, and otherwise historically relevant and showy items on the walls.

“Alright.” Sirius said. “We need to go through the house and make sure that when we kill it we don’t lose anything valuable to the Order.”

“Maybe you should have just asked Dumbledore to comb through it.” Lily suggested.

“’Involve Dumbledore’ she says.” Sirius gave her a condescending and dry frown. “No thank you. And I’m not risking anyone trying to stop us doing the… well _, the deed_.”

“Is it really the only way to make Regulus pass on?” Lily asked, leaning back against the dining table which drew Sirius’ stare. She crossed her arms casually and slouched. He was drawn between concern that one of the ceremonial Spanish swords hanging on the wall would fly free and strike through her, and bare adoration at her. No one had ever put their bum on that table, not even Sirius.

“That we know of.” Sirius replied promptly, drawing his gaze up to hers again. “And anyways I wouldn’t miss it for the world. So no Order members. Private family business.”

She hummed in understanding.

“Where shall we start?” James asked. Remus eyes were still moving over the dining hall, apparently caught on the decorative, magically engraved breastplate which dated back to 1500. He had that drawn up posture, hands to himself, that he sometimes carried in public spaces.

“We need the most help with the basement.” He said with some steel, as if it pained him to invite his friends into the lowest darkest and, yes he’ll say it, creepiest part of the home.

In truth, he’d feel more secure if only James accompanied him down. He couldn’t ask the others to remain upstairs because the herding instinct in him might just finally snap the last wire in his brain. They made their way through the kitchen and into a spacious food pantry where Sirius opened the magically concealed stairwell into the basement.

They stood staring and for the first time Lily glanced at her child with some hesitation. Sirius tipped his head as if to say he told her so.

“We’ll just be quick, in and out. We need to look over the things stored in there and determine what’s important… On second thought, why don’t you lot wait up here and I’ll bring things up for inspection! That could work.”

“That’ll take too long.” Remus said, hands still in his pockets and tone firm but reassuring.

“It’ll be alright.” James nodded firmly, shifting perhaps subconsciously closer to Harry. “We’ll stick together, be in and out.”

Sirius nodded and hesitated on the first stair, seeming to struggle to actually enter the basement while holding the child. He _really_ wished they’d left him at home, and actively wondered what other part of the house they could possibly search instead of this one.

The main issues were the cellar and the library.

“Come on then.” Lily finally spoke up, breaking the silence of all of them hovering at the top and warily peering into the dark. “It’s just a cellar.”

Even _she_ didn’t sound completely sure now. Sirius did not look back because he was sure his own expression might reflect more of his younger self than he would prefer. He stepped down and the others followed.

Once at the bottom, they huddled close, examining the large dungeonlike room.

“Christ, even the cellar is huge.” Remus whispered and Sirius checked to make sure the door was open. He shot a sticking charm at it to make sure it stayed open.

“Alright.” James nodded. “Let’s just start to one end and make our way around. Anything that looks relevant to the Order we’ll gather to take for Dumbledore. Maybe don’t touch anything without back up quite yet.”

They each nodded and carried on. James cast an illumination charm at the light fixture hanging in the center of the room. It lit for a moment before it extinguished again. They all paused to stare. Sirius cast the same charm and the light held this time.

When everyone’s backs were turned, Regulus caught his eye. They both frowned and broke away.

Sirius had on one special occasion been locked in this cellar overnight for some special rebellion. Most notably, the time he’d used magic against his mother. It wasn’t serious, nothing injuring. Regulus could remember the night. It might have been embarrassing, had it not obviously filled Regulus with the same tightness of chest and sickness in his belly. Had he been able to sleep through the night himself.

They made quick work of the room, spending not an hour inside. They gathered objects that seemed relevant to the war or the death eaters and stowed them in a magically secure bag. They all were less jumpy as they climbed the stairs but no less eager to escape. Sirius and James slammed the door shut and magically hid it once again with something aggressive in their casting.

That would have to be enough for one day, Sirius was nearly giddy when they opened the front door, finally handing Harry over to James.

“See?” Lily sighed. “All in one piece, aren’t we?” She stepped outside with them and drew the door shut behind her, which seemed to close far quicker than she’d meant to, slamming slightly. She blinked at it with surprise.

“Let’s get something to eat.” Sirius said, “I’m starving.” He carried on down the step while the others stared at the doorknob.

“Fucking weird house.” James muttered with a last look at it.

* * *

The next day, Sirius recruited Remus to help with the library. Upon entering, Mrs. Black exploded from the curtains over her portrait and began with a lengthy assault on her apparently lengthy list of grievances against her eldest and highly denounced heir. She had just enough time to round off with a nice spitting reproval of his keeping Remus as company. Fortunately she didn’t seem aware of his lycanthropy.

Remus helped him to pull the curtains shut. Sirius gave him a charming smile.

“Such a dear, isn’t she.” Sirius purred, letting go of the curtain.

“Yeah, a real charm.” Remus muttered, brows still raised at the colorful nature of her speech. He followed Sirius slowly through the house to the kitchen. Sirius started the kettle and made tea for them. Remus reached for a pure silver spoon and frowned at the feeling, dropping it and shaking his hand out.

“Sorry, do watch out. If it looks silver it probably is.” Sirius said, stepping close to him and stirring the tea with his wand, checking on his hand. The skin softly pink on his fingers, irritated and causing him to itch a little.

“Got it.” He returned, picking up the tea and Sirius hummed as they took a sip. They stood there for a moment. He felt so tense. But standing here, the familiar process of tea and Moony soothed his muscles down. He reached a hand out to him and lay his hand overtop Remus’ forearm, bared from his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His long fingers curled over his skin softly and he stayed for a moment, letting out a breath while Remus watched his face. Those amber eyes always seeing in, effortlessly. He grazed his fingertip over a bit of raised skin, outlining it.

They made their way to the library and set their tea on the heavy desk situated on the right side of the tall dim room, still holding books and papers, still a pen lying on the wood finish. Perhaps last held by Orion. He and Remus shuffled through the desk, looking for possible intel.

His face traveled through his mind. Like a wall, Orion was. Sirius had never tried very hard, but he never once got a reaction from his father. Not once. It didn’t seem to matter what he did, Orion was so unresponsive. And Sirius had done a lot.

If Sirius had tried and tried and tried as a child to get to a response from Walburga, it was to get warmth. He’d been a confused child, instinctually seeking comfort for skinned knees, or accidental trip and falls, from her. His baby cries never seemed to phase her. The desperation for some kind of break, some kind of response from her that was comforting, only evolved as he grew older until he no longer longed for it.

Or at least that’s what he’d thought, as a teenager. That he wanted nothing from her but liberation, to be cut loose. It was even the truth, at the time.

Was still the truth, for the most part. For all that mattered.

His seeking for a father in Orion wasn’t for warmth, but for the slightest acknowledgment. Even a sign that they were related. It felt as if he could have belonged to someone else. But it wasn’t unusual, in high society, a distant parent and child relationship.

He didn’t truly want anything from them in the end anyway.

“Nothing important, I don’t think.” Remus said, closing a drawer.

Remus moved on to the insurmountable project of the books. He did some detection charms, searching for secrecy in the shelves. A few of the librarian charms he’d learned from Madam Pince, to tell him what was where. But when nothing came up, it was his opportunity to look through the literature. His inner librarian couldn’t wait to tackle an ancient, highly magical bookkeep.

Sirius left him at it, after urging him to send a patronus if the house tried to kill him. He climbed the stairs up to his old bedroom and found his dust covered record player he’d smuggled in at thirteen. He drug it into the upstairs hall and put on a Queen record, cranked it up to full volume and laughed when the portraits on the wall started protesting in old French and English. He sang the words to _Liar_ just to scare them out of their frames. Then he dug through his mother’s room, forcing himself to search for anything of use.

He kept at it for quite some time before Remus showed up in the doorway.

“Oh, darling please don’t come in.” Sirius asked from the floor, surrounded by old enchanted jewelry. “I wouldn’t trust it.”

“I think the music is more threatening than me.” Remus smirked, leaned against the door. “You’re just asking the house to kill us now.”

“Well, good, I’m all ears if this old _shack_ has any more complaints to lodge!” He paused to give the walls a chance, then gave him a pointed look, “I think we’ll be alright.”

“Did your parents sleep in separate bedrooms?” Remus asked.

“As long as I can remember.” He packed up the jewelry, deeming it relatively unimportant but for being very old. “Imagine my surprise when I met all of your families. I didn’t know what to think about the Potters _hugging_.”

Remus hummed and tilted his head away. “Come to the library, I found some of your ancestors’ old wands.”

“You didn’t touch them did you?” Sirius hopped up, smiling despite the palpable ugliness of the house and the horrible ugliness of the war still trailing the steps they took down the hall. Smiling because the war was over. Because he still had his family.

“No, I didn’t touch them.” Remus hummed, smiling pleasantly. Sirius linked one of his fingers around Remus’.

“Good.” He chirped as they started downstairs to the library again, passing by under the gaze _of Elladora Black (1850-1931)._ “I’ve been blasting the paintings with hexes, you know, just to make the old Blacks behave. Earlier today Grandmother Melania’s portrait was being impolite so I had to scare her off.”

“Oh, not on my behalf, I hope.” Remus’ smile grew, breathy with amusement.

“Always on your behalf, my dearest.” Sirius tugged on his hand and kissing around his ear. He loved this thing about Remus. The way he smiled in a house which ruminated with hundreds of years of hateful and divisive magic, or in a school where he carried a secret, or through a war where he fought to defend a world which would never do the same for him. There was something thoughtlessly defiant about the way he smiled, shoved his hands in his pockets, and carried on. Handsome, Sirius thought.

They sorted through the old wands in the library together, Sirius used one to cast little firework charms that said _Fuck Voldemort_ in colorful exploding letters. He remembers when he’d tried Remus’ wand before. It was the kind of thing kids did, swapped wands. Remus’ wand had seemed stubborn to respond but it converted Sirius’ magic into something hot and threatening and unwieldy.

“Sirius, Christ, please, I don’t trust these wands.” Remus offered the box for him to replace the old wand and Sirius laughed. “Do the Blacks not burn or bury the wand with the user when they die?”

Sirius shrugged, “Sometimes, I think. But mostly, no. They get kept by the family. Their magic is mostly dead and gone anyways, they are mostly useless.”

Remus picked up one of the long boxes, inspecting the name engraved at the end. “Look.” He showed it to him where they were sat on the floor of the library.

Sirius tilted his head, reading _Sirius Black 1877-1952._ He hummed.

“That’s Great Grandfather. I forget his father’s name but there was a Sirius before him as well. I’m the third to have that name.” Remus gave the box a surprised look, carefully opening the case to look inside.

“There was a Regulus before mine as well.” He said, voice tapering off. Remus looked up at him then, gaze doing that quiet little inspection of his thoughts that it sometimes did. Sirius smiled briefly, looking away to fiddle with the wands again.

“Where’s Regulus today?” Remus asked.

“I think he wanted to visit Andy.” He opened his mouth to continue speaking but nothing came. Remus reached out a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. He closed his eyes, turning his head into his fingers slightly. Remus touched him like a partner would around other people, but like most other things he had a language for touch as well, which differed between public and private settings. These gestures, touches, were the private sort. “Not that she can see him anyway.” He murmured brusquely, opening his eyes to close the cases on the wands. “What say we let these old wands burn as well?”

Remus let his hand drop, a peaceful quiet in the line of his mouth. He stood up and walked to the middle of the massive rug laid in the library, looked up and waved his wand upward with an incantation. Music started echoing as if through foggy city streets, shimmering through the air from the charm.

“Come dance?” Remus smiled at him. Sirius laughed from his spot on the floor.

 _Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas_ twinkled overhead and drifted from his magic. Sirius went to him, taking his hand and swaying slowly.

“Look at you.” Sirius muttered hautily. “Spoiling me. I’m fine, you know.”

And Remus raised his brows and nodded slowly at this because _this,_ Sirius declining special treatment, was if anything an indicator of an issue more than not.

“Of course.” His voice rasped gently. “But it’s holiday time, special occasion.”

“Christmas is already over.” Sirius whispered, leaning against him.

“Then I’ve just gone soft.” He said, rubbing his back with his thumb. “And this house really is dreary.”

He left unsaid his other sympathies: _and you’ve lost a brother and you’ll soon lose him again._

“Yes.” Sirius said, resting his cheek on his shoulder. “It is.”

They really didn’t dance often. But the war had a way of exposing weaknesses, and priorities. James and Lily got married young. Maybe this dancing could be their wedding. Right here in this library where Orion, all the way back to Phineas Nigellus, would curse their names if he could but see them now. He thought that was funny.

They could stand close enough to hear each other breathing, _we are gathered here today._ Remus could cradle his palm in his, _the ring._ He could sway in time to the faceless music in the air, _for richer for poorer._ Sirius could breath in against the warm skin of his neck below his ear, _in sickness and in health._

_Till death do us part._

He remembered James and Lily’s ceremony. Thought maybe they should arrange something of the sort. Not exactly the same, but of an equivalence. He wondered why he should want such a thing. But he thought, doesn’t everyone? Everyone who wants a family, who’ve lost some of it along the way. Maybe it is silly. But he wanted the worst to be behind them now, or at least the very worst, for the fear to be ceremonially ended.

He wanted to live the rest of his life this way, even though he sometimes felt immeasurably exhausted and old from all of the death and the ghosts. Even though neither of them could erase the fact that they’d suspected each other – _betrayer._ They’d bitten each other’s hearts, and those teeth wounds still smarted today, when tempers were short. Nothing is ever easy.

But he wanted their blessing: life. To make use of what luck they had left and what love they could still see in each other.

This was something, here. Dancing.

* * *

The rest of the week between Christmas day and New Year’s Eve passed with the feeling of being in between. Between all of his life, the way it was and had been, and what was coming. What was overdue. If anything, Sirius spent more time at Grimmauld than he needed. Regulus always ended up back in this house, and Sirius found himself dragging his feet through each day. He found ways to drag out searching each of the rooms.

And despite his expectations, he found himself laughing in the house he grew up in. Running down the halls and cracking jokes.

They both judged this home, each in their own way, for holding their shortcomings. As if they could trace in the walls, whatever had made them so careless toward each other.

Regulus waits patiently until Sirius makes it through his systematic search to the attic room at the end of the hall in the very back of the house. Where Kreacher lived. Sirius wouldn’t have thought at all to look inside, had Regulus not prompted him by telling him that Kreacher liked to hide precious items there which the family discarded.

“Then none of it can be exactly important, can it? If mother or father were going to be rid of it.”

“Don’t be naïve. Who knows what he took up there. You don’t want to miss anything, especially not with every death eater in the whole war passing through here. You’d be surprised how safe they felt.”

So they pulled down the ladder and squeezed up inside. The little space was cramped and Sirius had to crouch to fit. Regulus sat beside him, hands curled around his knees folded up close. There was a bed just the right size for a house elf, dressed with a miniature quilt which must have belonged to at least two of the elves before him.

There were cobwebs around the rafters and old cups and, yes, family belongings scattered around.

The two said nothing for a few moments, looking around silently. Eventually Sirius started searching, digging through piles of old things, he even recognized a few things.

“What on _earth_ would he want this for.” He muttered, turning over an old, tarnished silver goblet engraved with the Black house crest. Regulus looked over his shoulder and met his eyes but said nothing, looking around himself while Sirius casted a few inspecting spells for dark items.

He ran across a handwritten letter, penned by Lucretia Black. He opened the envelope which crinkled stiffly with time, the wax seal (also the Black crest) long broken. He opened the fine stationary and read the script.

“What is it?” Regulus asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“Our hag aunt.” His voice acerbic and contemptuous. “She wrote to Father. Said she had dinner with some of the extended Prewett in-laws. She says they’re ‘dangerously close to liberal in their speech’ and that they expressed sympathy for a half-blood family who got into trouble. I can only imagine what Father wrote back to her. No wonder Lucy liked to visit and talk. Needed reassuring of her insanity.” Sirius tossed the letter aside. “It’ll make excellent kindling. Why would Kreacher want that rubbish?”

“Because one of us wrote it. He probably kept a lot of binned letters.” Regulus explained.

Sirius hummed darkly, turning back to the mess. “How on earth did he keep the house so clean? This place is a wreck.”

“We shouldn’t have made him live like this.” Regulus’ voice hardened swiftly. Sirius turned his head to him, eyes even as he surveyed his face. He’d obviously offended him. He looked around the space again. He’d thought it was small for a grown man, but it was even small for an elf in fact. Webs really did hang from the ceiling, and there was nowhere to keep the gathered tidbits organized, even if he’d wanted to.

Perhaps had the room been something more alike to the rest of the house, like where the people lived, then he might’ve cared to keep it tidier.

“Yes.” Sirius agreed, meeting his eyes again. “You’re right.”

Sirius never liked Kreacher. He’d obviously preferred Regulus, because Walburgia and Orion obviously preferred Regulus. Sirius didn’t understand the preferential treatment and had hardened against him in return. He also believed the popular view of wizarding society, that house elves did not want to be offered freedom, something that seemed evident enough in every house elf he’d ever met. And there were the elf heads, mounted on the walls of their home. He’d never had any interest or reason to question house elves and their servitude.

But looking at the quarters they’d kept for Kreacher now, the idea became so feeble it seemed like another of the obvious lies passed around by magical purist society. A flimsy screen which becomes transparently wrong when one only comes in contact with the subject of the matter.

He remembers now learning about werewolves in DADA class. He remembers question ten on that exam so many years ago. _Three signs to identify a werewolf._ He’d laughed about it at the time, it was funny. But he remembers the wrongness and the discontent he felt, circling the answer. Just for that minute he remembers wanting to talk to someone, to tell someone off, to write _FUCK OFF_ across the space. He didn’t like that someone had made a test question out of his best friend.

That’s really all it was, wasn’t it. He’d have never put the time in to thinking about it, but he loved Remus.

“Yes.” Sirius repeated to himself, then returned to the business at hand and so did he.

A few minutes later and they were nearly finished. Sirius pulled back the long undisturbed bedding.

Underneath the pillow was a ring. Regulus noticed his pause and looked to find his own family ring, the Black crest imprinted on the face in the front. When Sirius turned it around, _RAB_ engraved on the inside of the band.

“He kept your ring.” Sirius said. He had one similar of his own, with his initials engraved. Initials of first and second names, Sirius carrying their father’s name and Regulus carrying their grandfather’s name. His ring was somewhere in his own room, forgotten for years.

“I wore it in company. But I never really liked rings. He polished it often. He must have taken it here when he knew we wouldn’t be returning. Perhaps he didn’t want anyone to destroy it.”

Sirius turned the ring over in his long fingers. “When he knew you wouldn’t be returning?”

“Yes.” Regulus murmured, eyes distantly staring through his hand. Sirius looked at his face for more, and he came back to himself. “Kreacher was… in on the plot. He helped me to steal and destroy the first horcrux.”

“What?” His gaze sharpened, brow furrowed. “You never told me that.”

“I don’t think many people knew. At least people from your side.” He replied, looking away at the mess. Sirius’ face hardened with a shadow at his choice of words. “I didn’t want anyone to know he was involved, for him to be hurt. Of course as soon I destroyed it they knew, and came for me. They went for him as well.”

Sirius’ fingers closed on the ring as he stared, eyes wracked with anger and so much grief.

“There was no way to hide my own identity. I knew he’d be able to tell. You could feel it when I destroyed the locket… feel his… soul.” He cleared his throat, speaking quietly but clinically, as if the facts were impersonal. “But I thought I could keep Kreacher’s involvement in it a secret. I made a plan with him to meet me in a secure place, and I would offer him a coat. He had to be free in order to escape. It took convincing… I thought he wouldn’t go through with it… in fact… I lied to him, a bit. I told him that when we were both safe I would keep him as my own servant to work for me. It was the only thing that would convince him. I know it’s wrong to set him up for the disappointment like that.” He smiled slightly and briefly. “But I couldn’t bare it, I think, letting him be killed.” He sat up straighter and his face emptied of the hint of sentiment which had flickered there while he spoke. A trick like that, the mask, Sirius had never quite learned. “But it seems we weren’t quick enough in the end. They must have summoned him.”

Sirius allowed some silence to linger. Everyone he knew was familiar with loss like this. Every mission, every single one, was at least in part a gamble. A bet waged on someone’s life, hoping it would be theirs and not yours or one of your own. What insanity it was to wager your friend. What insanity it caused.

He said what he’d said so many times before, what had been said to him after missions where they’d lost something precious even if they’d won.

“I’m sorry.” For whatever those words were worth.

Regulus met his gaze evenly. He nodded and they turned their heads, surveying the mess.

“I think we’re finished here.” Sirius said. “And I can’t stay too late. James and I are having dinner in, with the little one.”

“Mm.” Regulus nodded and they made to leave. Sirius reached his hand out to replace the ring where he’d found it, underneath the ratty pillow. “Wait.”

Sirius paused.

“Could you… if you wouldn’t mind taking it with you. I know it’s nothing, just… We shouldn’t leave it. After he went through the trouble.”

Sirius closed his hand safely around the ring and drew it back again, “Of course.”

Unceremoniously, he hesitated before leaving and slid the ring on his own finger. The crest stared up at him, the intended heir, weightily. Regulus’ initials warming against his skin beneath.

At least until he got home. Of course there was somewhere he could keep it.

* * *

On the 30th of December, James hesitated to let Sirius return to 12 Grimmauld Place. All of their friends gathered in a pub sharing drinks. It was one of the rare occasions in which they all gathered as a group to spend time in open society. None of them would truly relax until they returned home, may never be relaxed in the open ever again after all of the public attacks.

Sirius excused himself to get some last minute ‘housework’ in before the bonfire tomorrow.

“Regulus won’t leave me alone, you know how it is.”

Regulus had rolled his eyes so hard it must have hurt his ghostly eye sockets. Remus hummed under his breath, “I’m sure.” The rest of their friends called goodbyes and James stood to follow him out.

“How would you know!” Sirius sniped in return. Remus only gave him that false sweet smile. Sirius quirked a brow at him and blew a kiss before making his way out to the door.

“Going back so soon, are you?” James asked over his shoulder. “Would have thought you’d be done by now.”

They stepped onto the curb into the cold night air. Their breaths billowed out and shone in the moonlight.

“Aye, you drunkards!” Called Clarissa from the second floor window, waving her fist from the room wherein she had lived about a century and a half ago, above the Three Broomsticks, and where she died many years after her own husband, an alcoholic himself.

“Evening to you as well, Clara!” Sirius nodded up to her very politely, smiling at her in a way he knew aggravated her to no end. Something like the way he smiled when he said he was sorry for something which he wasn’t at all sorry for.

“Clara’s still about?” James lifted his head to follow his gaze to the closed window which Clarissa was still looking down at them from.

“ _My name is not Clara, ya wee tits!”_ She screamed, shaking her head with a growl and withdrawing into the building again. Sirius raised his brows in amusement and turned away, lighting a cigarette.

“Yes, I’m sure she’ll be around next Christmas as well.” Sirius mumbled around the smoke, sighing out.

“How’re you doing, Pads? At the house.” James cut right to the subject before it could be avoided. Sirius tilted his head, looking away carelessly.

“I’m perfectly fine. It’s not like I’m trapped inside or anything, if it was truly horrible I wouldn’t go would I?” He looked him in the eye reassuringly. Regulus hummed as if he disagreed with his light tone. Sirius shot a look at him. James then hummed in the exact same way, crossing his arms against the cold.

“I worry about you alone in that house is all. And with that fucking portrait…” He scowled. Sirius’ expression evened out in understanding.

“I’m not alone, Reg is there.” He reminded. “And stop worrying. It’s the holiday time. It’s not time for worrying. It’s time for jolly making and cheer. It’s the most wonderful time of the year, or whatever, you know.” He flicked his wrist. James frowned at him insistently, glaring at him. Probably a precursor of what little Harry would be getting in due time.

“You’ve been quieter lately. And not like _I’m listening to a ghost_ sort of quiet.”

“He’s right.” Regulus chimed in a singsong voice, doing his best impression of annoying little brother yet. Sirius shot him an unimpressed stare.

“So what if I’m quiet- “

“You’re never quiet.” James said. Sirius took a drag to fill time before speaking again.

“Well, so what.” He murmured simply. “It won’t last forever. We’re doing it tomorrow night.”

“Already?” James frowned. Sirius avoided all present gazes and fiddled with the butt of the cigarette, flicking down ashes.

“Yes.” James stared at him quietly. “So, worry about me later. But not too much.” He smiled.

James sighed but drew him into a hug, patting his shoulder. Sirius squeezed back. Thought, _thank god. You’re here and so am I._

“I’ll join you for the fire, yeah?” James asked. Sirius pulled away.

“Sure.”

With a squeeze on his shoulder James left them on the curb. Sirius smoked for a few minutes in silence. Regulus was so quiet it used to anger him. Now he appreciated it.

At least tonight he did.

He looked up at the moon, telling lunar time. Regulus looked with him for a moment before Sirius threw the smoke down and crushed it.

“Let’s not wait around all night, we have kindling to gather.” They shared a look and he turned with a pop into space.

* * *

That night they discovered the wardrobe in the spare room. It was where they had played when they were younger.

“It seemed so much bigger then.” Regulus mumbled, circling the mahogany doors. Sirius pulled them open and they peeked inside.

“I wonder…” Sirius breathed, and crawled inside.

“What- where on earth…” Regulus crouched at the door as Sirius crawled in and bumped into the long ends of the luxury coats.

“Look!” Sirius shoved the ends of the coats aside to reveal a small stack of records leaning against the back, hiding.

“Did you hide those?” Regulus crawled in beside him, half obscured by clothing and leaning close at his shoulder to look at the records.

“Yes.” Sirius smiled wide and laughed, looking at each of the covers. “I can’t believe they’ve been here all these years.”

“What are they?”

Sirius looked up as if remembering, eyes alight.

“I never told you.” He reminded himself. “I stole these from father.”

Regulus’ brow furrowed and he watched as he turned them over, pulling them out to look at their covers. Sibelius, Shostakovich, Mahler, Barber, Rachmaninoff, Bach. The covers were dusted and, so strangely, made of poor quality hard paper, long cracked and scratched. Even the quality of them seemed so out of place. Orion’s things - pipes, clocks, books, everything - were of fine quality. It was a matter of show and protocol. These looked bought from a secondhand shop.

Neither of them could even imagine their father buying these. Much less putting them on to listen to them.

“Father listened to muggle records?” He frowned in confusion, deepening slowly as the oddity of it set in.

"Yes." Sirius said, as if the truth although unbelievable and absurd, were true. They sat in silence for a moment and Regulus glanced at his brother, watching him think and lose track of time again.

“Why?” He asked when he felt obligated to jar him from his thoughts. Sirius blinked, slowly returning to the present. “Why muggle music?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” He said simply. His tone fell heavy in the dry and insulated silence of the wardrobe. The furs seemed to suck his words away like snow, as if vanishing the sound. Still Regulus could feel, the dark underbelly of the truth which set in like an unsettling echo after the first truth. Something off putting.

It was a contradiction, wasn’t it.

_Father listened to muggle music because it’s beautiful._

“Let’s put them on.” Regulus said, barely a whisper. A discovery like this, when he was just a boy, would have confused him. He’d have shut Pandora’s box. Afraid to see the flaws in his father, in everything they were told.

They gathered up the records and carried them and the player down into the library. They spread the vinyl on the floor and sat the player on the thick carpet. The light from the moon streamed inside and dimly lit them as Regulus chose one for Sirius to put on the player.

There were halfbloods in Slytherin house, he remembers. They’d introduced him to record players. They’d even showed him how to control electricity with his magic. He’d taken to it quite naturally, making lightbulbs shine and records play. But he’d kept distance between himself and those children. He and a portion of the pureblood Slytherins like himself had been taught that there was a difference, between themselves and the children with muggle parents. And there had seemed to be, with all of the strange words and games and stories that the halfblood children knew, they may as well have come from another world. It was easy to spot them.

Even when he befriended them, he’d never gone too close. If they invited him to visit over the breaks, he’d decline. He’d seen the conflict it had brought when Sirius accepted. His parents would roll in their graves to see the flying motorcycle. Personally, Regulus thought it was exciting. He’d always been a sort of excited, by Sirius, by his ideas. It was a familiar feeling. The excitement and the trouble that always followed so horribly.

Sirius touched the player with his wand and the disc began to turn. They sat staring as the music played out. The moonlight was a soft sheen on the black sleek vinyl, spinning around.

Regulus turned the cover over and read the back. Even read it out loud, to disturb Sirius from his empty, far away staring.

“Shostakovich, piano concerto number two.” He said, looking at his brother. Sirius’ gaze flicked over to the sleeve where he read the title. Nothing seemed to move behind his eyes, just the empty contempt that lay still there. “How did you get these from him?”

“I snuck into his bedroom and searched his things.” He said plainly. “They stuck out.”

“Are you serious…” Regulus breathed, shaking his head at him. He’d never have snuck into Orion’s room. Never have dreamed of it.

“I wanted to know why he had them. Why he was hiding them.” His eyes hardened and he frowned. “It’s so typical isn’t it. Such a cliché.”

“What?”

“Just they can’t resist it can they? Purebloods like him, can’t resist the temptation. They go their whole lives spreading the limerick, teaching the whole world the horrors of the unclean. The muggles. That they’re uncultured and low and base, that they don’t deserve to live. That they’re a threat to us. That we are all chased into hiding… oppressed by them. The horrors of the _Statute of Secrecy…_ Deriding and devaluing anything to do with nonmagical people.” His mouth set in a hard and hateful line, eyes flashing with laughter. “But they can’t resist the curiosity.”

Regulus looked at the record, listened as the first movement ended. He thought of all this quietly for some time.

“It does sound wonderful.” He finally said. Sirius exhaled and smiled in that awful way he could do.

“Yes, it does. And look at him, father. Getting it both ways. Allying with the death eaters and yet still, listening to this. Eating the forbidden fruit behind closed doors.” His nose wrinkled. “He seemed so strong when we were younger. This makes him look so weak, doesn’t it.”

Regulus stared at him, turning it all over in his mind.

“You hate him don’t you.” He said. Sirius looked at him, evenly.

“Don’t you?”

Regulus stared back, thinking.

He wasn’t sure if he hated him. He was sure that Orion was wrong and he was sure when he destroyed the Horcrux, sure when he woke up with that horrible drifting sensation in his soul which he could still feel now, and found Sirius, sure when he told him who the leak was. Sure when he turned the war around.

He wasn’t sure if he hated Orion. More than that, he was sure he loved Sirius. This was obvious, compared to the lack of an opinion toward their father.

“I suppose not.” He answered. Sirius didn’t sneer at him, like he expected. Just stared quietly before looking back at the record. Listening to the piano, chiming like from outside their world.

“I did. When I listened to these in my room. It made me angry. It made me hate him, that he would listen to this. Because it was so confusing and it didn’t align with everything that I… The more beautiful I thought the music, the more I hated him.” He shrugged. “And I wanted to hate this.” He nodded at the player, eyes distant. “Because he liked it.”

The music became thin and high, the piano shimmering back and forth in high octaves before it finally dropped decisively into something whole and warm, the bottom of the sound falling out with the cello dipping low.

“It does seem strange doesn’t it. Like a guilty pleasure… sort of wrong.” Regulus murmured.

“I just couldn’t imagine his cold, lifeless face… listening to this. He couldn’t have felt anything. He couldn’t have understood it.” His brow furrowed. In his mind, Sirius thought back to the first symphony he’d listened to from the stolen records. Mahler’s recreation of heaven. It could not be that Orion grasped any of it.

Regulus listened to the ethereal sound.

“Do you understand it?” He asked. He meant it honestly.

His expression turned thoughtful, still so horribly distant. He shook his head, barely visibly.

“Good point.” He said into the quiet, under the sound of the second movement, the strings and the piano. Dimming the world with that foreign darkness, lighting it on occasion.

Regulus was listening when Sirius spoke again. “Do you know, I’m almost certain that he knew I had them. He didn’t have proof. But we both knew he knew, I could tell. But he never confronted me. I was only twelve. He never mentioned it.”

“He didn’t want to make it real.” Regulus filled in the truth. “He didn’t want to risk exposing his own secret.”

Sirius looked at him, saying nothing as they both agreed, both of them imagining the subtle cowardice. All of it over this, afraid to admit he’d listened to some music.

And the rest of the whole lie they’d been told seemed so naked. One flick at a house of cards, and the whole thing tumbled.

It was a lie so feeble they’d both understood its falsehood long ago. But they listened to the unloving strings and the discomfort of the piano, and the intermittent sweetness like a crackling hum in the throat, realizing that a war had been fought over that paper thin idea. Made so powerful by a hateful man and his believers.

And even the messiah, a fake in the end. A halfblood himself.

Regulus listened to the last measure of the movement, his brother seeming lost in thought. The music ending in distant discomfort, offering nothing kind at the end. All of the crushing beauty that peered through like soft light, it faded now into the cold end.

The next movement started after the silence, both of them still sat on the floor in the dark. He prompted his brother to turn it off, leave, disturbing him. He’d seem to forget the time, in this house.

Sirius waved his wand and left them in silence.

“You should go home. It’s late.” Regulus said again. Sirius didn’t answer for a moment, his eyes looking up at the window, finally shifting and shining with thought like they normally would.

“Regulus.” He said and paused while he waited patiently. “Can I ask you something.”

“Of course.” Regulus said, “Sure.”

His face flickered with hesitation and pain, brow furrowing.

“I know it’s horrible but… Before you found me. Before you woke for the first time… When you died. What was it like? What was there.” He stared at his little brother and Regulus watched back.

“It was nothing.” He shook his head slightly, whispering. “Like a dark room.”

Sirius’ eyes seemed frenetic with something like grief for a split second, like a fire caught suddenly, and he turned his head away, staring at the black corners of the library.

“You know that, don’t you?” Regulus said. “You must have asked someone before.”

Sirius nodded. “I have.”

Regulus felt a sharp tug, and for a strange moment he felt as if he had a body again. A sharp pain high in his chest, crawling in the base of his throat. Then, it vanished just when it hurt the most. His mind blanked and his expression cleared. He sat that way, thoughtlessly, until he remembered himself again.

“You should go home.” He prompted. Sirius nodded and stood.

* * *

Sirius arrived at Grimmauld Place on New Year’s Eve while the sun leaned toward the horizon. Wearing sunglasses and fisting two pint bottles of a nicer, older firewhiskey. Regulus was waiting for him on the step, looked up and instantly went half exasperated and half smiling.

“Good evening, Reggie!” Sirius crowed, smiling handsomely and raising both hands in the air to brandish the liquor. “Today’s the day!”

Regulus stared at him for a moment, humor twinkling in his eyes, mixed with a little thread of annoyance. “You look like you’re going to a party. It’s not a party.”

“It could be.” Sirius said, “It should be. I brought drinks.”

Regulus muttered something under his breath, smiling despite himself. It did seem sort like a celebration, if he looked at it right. He hauled himself up and Sirius laughed over him, shaking the whiskey.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” He opened the door and stepped inside, talking as he went. “I’ve waited my whole life for this moment. I can’t wait to go down in family history for this, personally. Not that I’m expecting much of a lineage to pass the story down to, but hey, maybe I’ll adopt some children. And I’m sure we’ll get along like a house on fire. _Get it?”_

“Yes.” Regulus replied, laughing a bit at Sirius’ beaming smile. They stopped so he could put the bottles down in the foyer, pulling off his sunglasses and surveying the place leisurely.

Mrs. Black’s curtains flew open and she started with, “ _Sirius Orion Black, you-.”_ Sirius’ wand arm had always been fast, and it drew from his jacket and shot a brutal charm at the curtains which slammed them shut on her instantly. The whole frame shuddered right down to the stones in the wall, but the damn thing still hung on.

He dropped his hand and twirled his wand between his fingers, smiling sweetly, contentedly at the rest of the room.

“You could look less pleased.” Regulus smirked at him. “It’s indecent.”

“Oh Regulus,” Sirius sighed happily. “I really can’t.” He set off with a spring in his step. “Let’s get to it! This demolition is going to be _sexy_ but not without a little work.”

“Merlin, help us.” Regulus muttered under his breath. And they got started. They spent the remainder of the daylight hours reinforcing all of the concealment charms layered on the house. All the while, Regulus hummed along to the blissful and cheery jazz record Sirius had put on.

The charms were over a hundred years old and running, last reinforced by Walburga and Orion, so they were not worried about the rest of the neighborhood noticing the commotion. The fold in space would give them plenty of room to destroy the house with none the wiser. The house was tucked out of the street and into the fold securely, and this too would protect the neighborhood from any spreading fire. It would almost be a secret.

If not for the Order and possibly the ministry aurors. He expected them to have their ways of monitoring the house, and when they set it off he expected they would become aware of it. He wasn’t worried about it. By the time they became aware, if they came to inspect, it would be more or less done with.

Sirius remained cheerful until the sun set. His mood quieted and he tried to keep his face neutral. Regulus knew easily though, what he was thinking. So he gave it up and let the record run itself silently around and around, fixing the charms as the night set.

They found themselves in the upstairs hall, overlooking the foyer below over the banister, with nothing left to do. Anything either of them could think of that might make the night last longer was done and over with. Finally, they had to face what they’d come here for.

Sirius refused to break their silent lingering against the rail.

“We should start the fire.” Regulus finally said. He thought he should feel reluctant but mostly he felt distantly resigned. He was tired. Most of the time he didn’t notice, but there was something about his existence that didn’t sit right with the world. Like slipping on a sheet of ice, unable to take hold. And always there was a tugging, not quite down, but inward. A dark and tiresome tugging. Or maybe he was under the ice, looking through, while the world passed over.

Sirius nodded, avoided looking at him. He stood up and before he could move, Regulus spoke again.

“You know…” He paused. He thought about how to speak again. “This has been fun.”

“Yeah.” Sirius murmured, eyes embarrassing in their warmth.

“Some of the most fun I think we’ve had.” Regulus nodded, awkward in his earnestness. He left off the word ‘together’ at the end, because it was too close to the sweet honest truth he was referring to. Not just the jokes cracked in the halls beneath severed elf heads. But the year passed. Haunting Sirius had been fun, despite everything.

_This was some of the most fun we’ve had together. I had fun with you, this year._

“I know.” Sirius said, still staring in that way that made Regulus shifty and embarrassed.

“Let’s start.” Regulus prompted, and they did. He followed Sirius while he took the family portrait off the wall. It was a rather long, thick, heavy tapestry which Sirius levitated through the house, down the hall. There in the hall, he hung it from the rungs of the railing, so that it overlooked the foyer. They made sure it secure and went downstairs to the entryway, taking it in.

It hung from the second floor, all of their recent recorded ancestry. Regulus even enjoyed the drama of it. Sirius always brought that out in him.

It was a pretty tapestry, overall.

“You know,” Regulus spoke, smiling slightly. “When mother officially disowned you, I did some research in the library.”

“Oh?”

“I figured out all the names of the people blasted off the tapestry.” He laughed slightly at it, and they both looked up at the scorch marks on the thing. “I figured out almost every person’s reason.”

Sirius looked at him with open curiosity, listened while Regulus told him those stories. There were seven scorches in all. At the very bottom of the tree, a mark beside Regulus for Sirius, and a mark between Bellatrix and Narcissa, for Andromeda (married Ted Tonks). Just above them, one for Alphard (long since cast out for indecency and his ideas, but officially when he gave Sirius his fortune). There was Walburga and Alphard’s Aunt Marius (a squib, erased from their history for the shame of it). And Marius’ cousin, Cedrella (married Septimus Weasley – ‘ _Yes, a Weasley! Who knew_ ’ ). Then even further back, into the last century, Phineus (supported muggle rights). And far above and long ago, the first removed from the tree. Isla. Married Bob Hitchens, a muggle.

Sirius smiled at where her name should be, just a barely visible black mark. Marriage. A proud crime, he thought.

“And then there’s you.” Regulus finished his story. “When you ran away.”

“Well, you forgot one.” Sirius crossed his arms, grinning.

“I did?”

“Yes. Regulus Black! ‘Slayer of a piece of Voldemort’s soul’.” Regulus laughed, the whole house vibrated so that the chandelier shivered, and Sirius barked a laugh with him. “I’m fucking jealous, why do you get the coolest disowning story? That’s so unfair! After everything I did, _and I was disowned first.”_ He griped. They both laughed at the absurdity.

“Well,” Regulus consoled, “We’ll just not tell anyone. My name is still up there. No one will know.”

“Thank you.” Sirius chuckled. Regulus looked away from the tapestry when the laughter faded.

“Are you friends coming for the fire?”

“Later.” Sirius said, his smile fading. “I figured we’d get started and they’d catch up.”

Regulus nodded and they looked back at the tapestry. Both of their smiles faded and it seemed the house itself stared with them, looking up at the family tree and at the coming end.

“I’m sorry about the way things turned out.” Sirius said. It seemed to come from nowhere. Regulus looked at him, not because he wanted to. But because it must not be easy, these conversations. “I’m… just sorry.” He faltered. Seemed to struggle. “Things didn’t work out how I would have wanted. I didn’t mean to not be there for you.”

“You were fine.” Regulus said. And maybe it was letting him off the hook when he shouldn’t, who knows. All he knew was he didn’t feel angry at him. “There was a war on. Things were difficult, after school.”

“Before that.” Sirius said, quietly. Better now than he was before, at claiming his failings. “Even before. I was loyal to my friends, was there for them.” He huffed lightly. “I should have saved some of my redeeming qualities for you.”

Regulus looked away from him, tilted his head back and thought. He seemed light and easy on the world.

“Redeeming qualities,” He murmured. “If things had been different… If I had been different, even. Maybe we both would’ve done more for each other.”

Sirius swallowed, looked up at the tapestry with him. Bravely taking in breath after painful breath through this moment.

“But it’s done now.” Regulus said. “We’ll both have to get on with it.”

Sirius closed his eyes for a fleeting moment. Time moved unforgivingly at places like these, dragging him too quickly.

“Yes.” He nodded. He squared his shoulders. “Shall we get started?”

He turned and gathered up the two bottles of whiskey. Together they cheered the house, laughing at it. Sirius poured half a bottle out on the elegant stone floor, for Regulus, who didn’t even roll his eyes at the gesture like he would.

He took a long drink for himself. Then set Regulus’ bottle down on the floor before them. He glanced at him for confirmation and, upon his nod, he cast the charm they had practiced for this. An all consuming flame sprouted from his wand and caught at the end of the tapestry hanging before them. They watched it catch and grow. Something different and unnatural about it. It could melt marble and stone; it wouldn’t stop until nothing remained.

The flames licked up the sides and framed the tapestry, moving quickly and the two waited until it glowed. Sirius turned and waved his wand toward the doorway, where he’d left the player and a few of the best records. They stepped outside and into the street, turning to look at the house where they could just see a red glow from the windows.

Sirius conjured two fine chairs, which made Regulus laugh softly. They both sat down, Sirius sprawling like a king, and taking a draw from the bottle.

They quietly watched, and Sirius put a record on the player. (‘ _This one’s wonderful, you should really hear it at least once.’ ‘Well, I’ve only got till the house is gone, hurry up.’ ‘Fucking hell Reg.’)_

They waited, watching the inside of the house flicker and glower, the light bleeding out angrier and bloodier until it shown red. Sirius cheered at the first windowpane to explode, raising his bottle. He waved his wand at the player and slung an arm over the back of the chair, listening to the dramatic tenor perform the aria for them as they both shimmered in the glow of the house.

_Nessun dorma, nessun dorma…_

The roof of the estate went up in magical flames, roaring and screaming. Then the fire caught, just about when he expected it to, on the explosives he’d placed inside. With violent pops and booms, the roof collapsed and from inside the fireworks exploded upward. Colorful and horrible and brilliant.

They gasped and stared, wide eyed, full of wonder. The house boomed and the sky burst with a rain of fireworks. The way a star would die.

_Tramontate, stelle!_

They laughed as it went on, under the lights. The night now bright as dawn over them.

_All’alba,_

_Vincero! Vincero! Vincero!_

The explosions leapt from the flames and the music dropped away, leaving just the booming and roaring of the house. Sirius looked at Regulus. His eyes quiet and glowing with the inferno, he looked back. Then a shimmer started around his form and glowed bright too, like another supernova. They both closed their eyes, though that white light blinded him still.

* * *

Remus and James and Lily, with little Harry in her arms, appeared at nine o’clock when they said they would. To their slight surprise, they were met with the towering estate half collapsed, the heat emanating into the street where the glow cast long surreal shadows, grotesque and stark.

And Sirius, still sitting with his arm resting on the chair, hand hanging loosely. Casting his own dark shadow.

Lily hung back, watching as the two boys approached the chairs and the whiskey bottle and records on the street. Harry gasped at the fire, staring wide eyed. She thought, _he has no idea what he’s looking at._ And she was somewhat thankful, for that moment, that Harry only saw a big pretty light.

She saw James put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. Remus, with his hands in his pockets, stood behind them, ignoring the flames. They had time now, before the ministry or Dumbledore arrived.

Her husband stood tall but his head dipped toward him, eyes on Sirius. She saw his mouth moving in the gory light, wordless from this distance, under the snapping and tectonic cracking of the home. Sirius must have responded. James nodded. His hand squeezed and he crouched beside the chair, grasped his hand. Sirius’ was loose but James adjusted their grip and he responded, so that they both held on tight. Even if the rest of his body still slumped there.

She stared at their hands because she couldn’t see their faces. James watched the fire now, all three of them silent. Staring at the burning, together in vigil. They were young, each of them, none of them even halfway through their twenties. She knew exactly how that hand felt. Clasped tight.

As she stood behind them, Harry politely mumbling in her ear, happy in her arms, she determined to herself that this year would be better. She told the world that, from the secrecy of her thoughts. That their lives would grow from this. Because Harry was growing up and she would ensure that everyone else was witness to it, too. They would be okay. Her quiet, thoughtless determination painted over the scene. And she was sure of this, despite the sympathetic bleed she could feel in her chest.

Nothing felt different, but she remembered them just a few short years ago, on the cold Hogwarts grounds in the sun. Imperfect then just as imperfect they are now.

They had as much a chance as anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> There was a post somewhere on tumblr that said some writing is like baking bread. When you bake bread in the same kitchen for a long time, the kitchen takes on its own enzyme cultures or something like that. So even if the loaf is not very excellent, it still contributed to the yeast enzymes. This is one of those loafs, for my kitchen, imo. I had fun writing it. Hope everyone has a good holiday season. If you made it this far, congrats, I'm surprised. Literally no one was looking for this fic.
> 
> Music referenced in this story includes:  
> [If I Go, I'm Going by Gregory Alan Isakov](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q3gnxO8bUxQ)  
> [Piano Concerto No 2. II. Andante by Shostakovich](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JlMHjo7Jwhk)  
> [Nessun Dorma from Puccini's "Turandot"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWc7vYjgnTs)  
> [Find me on tumblr here.](https://thisshipsailsitselff.tumblr.com/)  
> Forgot to link but when I said “Mahler’s recreation of heaven” I was referring to Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No 4 movement 3.


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